


Two Sides of The Same Coin

by Romantik_Kun



Series: Phantom Pain [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Obsession, Tags May Change, Violence, bear with me, twisted feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romantik_Kun/pseuds/Romantik_Kun
Summary: "Neither the sun, nor death can be looked at steadily."-Francois de La Rochefoucauld, Reflections; or Sentences and Moral MaximsTortured by his previous defeat Wesker spirales down an inescapable train of thoughts, putting into question all he as been taught. Painfully aware of how Chris's incessant meddling is influencing his behavior he starts wondering what exactly is it that draws them to each other.





	1. Head or Tail

**Author's Note:**

> My first chapter in on a total of 3. In the first part we don't really feel the Chris/Wesker relationship yet but don't worry it'll come! I plan to have the next chapter about Chris and the third about their reunion, if that interests you please keep on reading and I hope you enjoy! I appreciate every and all feedback and thank you in advance for any suggestion you might want to make. (And please bear with my english I'm doing my absolute best as a non-english-speaker!)

In the dimly lit room of a ruined motel Wesker sat, his head between his hands. Ever since his last battle he had been in constant pain, violent headaches assaulted his sleep and the lack of respite was making him irritable. He got up and wobbled toward the sink in the small, unsanitary bathroom. Without turning on the light he stood in front of the mirror, feeling under his fingers the scars that adorned his face. It took time but at last the regenerative process seemed to have picked up, with his body almost entirely reconstructed, his system was starting to refine his being once again. His precious hair were back to their former self and half is visage now stood fixed, the same could not be said about his lower jaw. The skeletal structure maintained in place only by grotesque black formations resembling exposed muscles. His skin had yet to retake certain areas of his body, his forearms were covered in the same black substance. Albert looked at his hands, his fingers looked elongated, almost like claws. Uroboros's doing, the black mass hugging his skeleton had no regard for aesthetics. He walked back to the room and sat at a small desk. 

From the shadows the ex-Stars captain had monitored the situation. The BSAA still counted among its numbers, the famous Chris Redfield. The one that had times and times again eluded death, the same Chris that repeatedly stood in the way of progress and stubbornly refused to accept his inferiority. The miserable little rat was the one responsible for his current agony, the suffering served as a constant reminder of his shameful defeat. Fueling Wesker's ever growing hatred of human kind. Had it not been for this meddling vermin, the world would already stand peaceful. Wars would not be waged and humankind would finally live in harmony. And yet Chris and his selfish allies denied this utopia, blinded by their worldly desires, unable to comprehend the greatness laid before them. They did not understand the need for sacrifices and opposed them, leading his plans to ruin. The wounded man sighed heavily as he continued his train of thoughts. He was willing to admit the grudge he held against Redfield had poisoned his objectiveness, cooling his head he tried to align is thoughts. If only Chris could somewhat be made to see to truth. Unified under a common cause they would be unstoppable, immortal. They could build empires and rule as self-proclaimed gods. populated by fewer but more suited humans the earth could heal, and under their peaceful reign grow. Under all that resentment, Wesker held a profound, if twisted, respect for Chris, the man had untapped potential, but his mind, poisoned by his foolish "friends", could not see it. Leading him to constantly rebuke his former captain's much needed guidance. The thought was unnerving, another thing those puny humans had shamelessly stolen from him. Decided to stop his conjectures Wesker left his room, letting the polluted air of the city fill his lungs. He grunted in disgust, before setting off.

Faithful to himself, the man was dressed in all black, the expensive looking coat was buttoned up to his neck, his large scarf , resting on his shoulder, was mounted on his mouth as to cover his deformed jaw. His signature shades always adorning his nose. He walked aimlessly, continuously thinking about his machinations, without realizing it he ventured into a crass looking alley. By all mean, the rest of the neighborhood was just as bad but this one particular spot smelled of death. Unfazed he continued walking. After a bit he stumbled across the source of the horrid smell, a cat laid bloodied behind a few trash bags. The poor creature's eyes had been gauged out, it's mouth was open in a painful expression. It's once pristine white fur now tainted with blood and other foulness. Rats were feasting on the dead flesh. Wesker stopped in his tracks and observe the nightmarish spectacle. The animal had been killed by humans, that much was evident, one or more truly sadistic individuals. But what truly fascinated him were these small opportunists. The rats, big and dirty, flourishing at the depends of another's misfortune. Nature's very own trash collectors. A good reminder of what he already knew, nature was indeed merciless.

As he continued to ponder he heard voices coming closer and closer, there were laughs and another, not yet distinct, sound. A very unpleasant cry. In a jump Wesker perched himself on the rooftops, surveying the dark alley. After a short moment, three individuals came into sight. They dragged along them a small bag, the cries were coming from inside. With the distance now closed, the man recognized the cries of a cat. Logic would want that, these three youngsters had also killed the previously mentioned creature. A weird hobby indeed. They treated the bag roughly, finally they took the small creature out. The poor thing wriggled in a frivolous attempt to get loose. These were mere children and yet they held onto such perverted feelings. The need to hurt and the twisted satisfaction they got from it. Wesker had seen it all, throughout his years he witnessed the worse and the best humanity had to offer, but no matter how much he wished for the good and pure. Evil was everywhere, once again he was proven right. In a weird turn of event, he found himself wondering what would Chris do, confronted with such a sight. Undoubtedly he would intervene, save the cat, suitably "punish" those worthless brats. But here laid the problem, saving one small life was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. If given the opportunity these sick individuals would surely do the same elsewhere, with greater care as to not get caught. Nothing would have truly changed, unless you get rid of the source. And in a perpetual, vicious, cycle, killing those kids would plant the seeds of vengeance in the hearts of those who held them dear. Given, there were such people, of course. And that was exactly why only an unopposed and powerful ruler could seed out this problem. If retaliation became impossible, then this circle would break and peace would assert itself. A powerful man, such as him, was the only suitable candidate to wielding the hammer of justice.

He snapped out of his thoughts, brought back to reality by a painful scream. The teens had started hurting the cat, but unyielding the little creature would try to bite and claw. The raw will to survive brought a smirk to Wesker's lips. Small as it was and completely outnumbered the feeble kitten was still fighting. The man hopped down as he made his mind. Such abhorrent behavior could not be allowed to stand. He landed dramatically next to the scene. How he loved grandstanding, the excitation of asserting his authority sent his blood boiling every single time, it was in those moment that he was ever truly alive. The three young men were dumbfounded. Before they had the time to understand anything two of them were already dead. The last one, Wesker had elected as the one who would heed his wisdom before breathing his last breath. And so he engaged into one of his famous monologue.

All while picking up the small cat in his hand, the tall man went on about divine will and the fate of the unworthy. However, it is doubtful that the young man could comprehend any of the complex vocabulary. Around them, blood had splashed on the brick walls and the dismembered corps of his friends were surely a great distraction. The expression of pure terror that now adorned his face was a clear sign that the trauma had sank in. It was pointless to even talk to him. Disappointed Wesker pulled out a gun and put a single bullet in between the teen's eyes. The gunshot echoed through the air, surely it was but a matter of time before the cops would show up. His words had been wasted, once again this world's resident had proven unworthy of his wisdom.

"Call it karma... I suppose." Summarizing his thoughts he walked away, keeping the tiny animal cooped up in his arms.

He was back in his motel room, he was now tending to the injuries of his new companion. It was nothing severe, Wesker had intervene rather quickly and spared the courageous feline a great deal of pain. After fixing the last bandage he gave it a small pat. "You need a name." The feline eyes locked into Wesker's, piercing yellow eyes plunged into the dark orange of his own gaze. The tall man scoffed in a smirk. "We're not so different you and I." The cat gave a quick lick to his savior's hand. "Why did I save you I wonder..." He thought back on the events. Right before jumping in to help, the ex-STARS captain had thought about Chris. He stayed in silence for a while. "Funny how, in the end, we both want the same thing Chris. Peace. A better world." The cat cuddled in close and fell asleep. With his skeletal fingers Wesker brushed the animal's soft fur. "A shame we don't see eye to eye when it comes to the means. I wish you'd see how alike we really are. Or maybe you know, deep down." Purrs could now be heard. "I found myself wondering, if I had been the one raised outside of Umbrella's grasp. If our circumstances were somehow switched. How would you have turned out? I already know that without your friends to hold you up you crumble beautifully. Without... what was it? Piers? You'd have killed that Carla woman. Then how far apart would we be?" He moved the small feline to the bed. "Oh so close. I believe it's high time I pay you a visit..."


	2. The Justice Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is a man who would give his life to keep a life you love beside you.”   
> ― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter is here and I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! A little more about Chris this time around with a little surprise at the end. I hope to see you guys for the finale :) Let me know your thoughts and I'll try my best to deliver the last chapter you guys expect!

It was a cold but sunny day, the sky was unclouded. Right outside the BSAA's headquarters, a press conference was being held. Many high ranking officers were present for the occasion, Chris included. He had become something of a icon, representing the BSAA was already his job but now he had to do so in front of the cameras. He despised how popular he had gotten lately, people had started to think of him as some kind of hero. But the price of such a title weighed heavily on his soul. He could never forget all those he lost, good soldiers, brave men and women he considered part of his family. They had given their lives protecting civilians, doing their jobs. And yet he was the one to be put on a pedestal, it just didn't sit right with him. But as O'Brian put things in perspective for him, Chris understood the importance of maintaining a public presence. The people out there needed a sign of hope, they had to know someone was standing strong against the chaos and they needed a face, a symbol. As displeased as he was, Chris was taking his new role extremely seriously. Walking up to the microphone he cleared his throat, admittedly he was nervous, he never was one for speeches. He was met with a cacophony of questions, camera flashes and the scrutiny of thousands of eyes. In an appeasing gestures he tried calming down the medias. 

"Please, let us all be calm, all of your questions will be answered." 

Order finally reasserted itself, journalists were picked one at a time, each allowed a maximum of 15 minutes. 

"Mister, Redfield." An African-American woman stood up, a pen and a note pad in her hands. "I am here representing the group Terra Save. For a long time now, we have asked the BSAA to disclose the name of the man responsible for the attacks on Kijuju. But we were met with constant refusal. Why is that mister Redfield?" 

Chris sighed inaudibly, as much as he appreciated his sister's group efforts. At times they only managed to make things even more complicated. "Miss...?"

"Miss Hawthorne." 

"Miss Hawthorne, m'am. I understand your group's concerned..."

"Let me correct you, this is not my group's concern solely. The whole world is wondering." 

"Right, while I understand everyone's concern. This information was classified top-secret in an attempt to protect innocent individuals. That might otherwise be associated with the perpetrator."

"Do you not trust civilians, such as myself. To differentiate good from evil?"

"Don't get the wrong idea. I know this might seem far-fetched but we act on everyone's best interest. Next question." 

Protest were short lived and the conference went on. At one point the topic was brought up again.

"Captain Redfield. Sam Holliday, from Times." A young looking reporter got on his feet. "I don't mean to be insensitive sir. But in light of recent, rather worrying reports, I must ask. Are the rumors concerning the Kijuju incident true? Could this mysterious "perpetrator" still be alive?" 

Chris knew this was coming, indeed he had been briefed by the BSAA African division. Apparently, suspicious activity had been recorded near the volcano. They had kept security tight around that spot for months... years. And their suspicions were founded, Wesker may indeed be still alive. What he couldn't explain was how exactly this supposedly classified information ended up in a reporter's hands. No matter, the harm was done. Gasps and whispers were already spreading across the crowd. And no doubt the audience was just as shocked. 

"Calm yourselves. There is nothing to worry about, security has been thorough in securing the area of the incident. Furthermore these slanders are supported by no physical evidence."

"I have in my possession an official report, coming directly from this previously mentioned "site", Mr. Redfield. It's written here, black on white..." 

"May I ask how you got a hold of these reports, Mr. Holliday? You're disclosing an ongoing investigation..."

"So it is true? There is a possibility?" 

The journalists started yelling questions and chaos reigned once more. Unable to regain control over the media and the crowd, the press conference had to be put on hold. Chris walked out of the spotlight and back into the building. This was a colossal mess. 

\-- 

Inside, he was welcomed by the worried looks of his subordinates. Alongside them, Jill and Claire were seated at a small table, they waved their hands, inviting him over. 

"You're alright Chris?" Jill inquired a sad frown on her face. "We heard the commotion." 

"I am so sorry about Sally's behavior. I told her to be careful what she asked... but she's young and eager to prove herself. I'll review things with her later." Claire had her hand on her forehead. This was giving her a headache. She hugged her brother in an apology. 

"It's not you're fault. I'll smooth things over around here too. Last thing we need is a clan war." 

"Don't worry about that, I'll do it." Jill pressed a reassuring hand on her friend's shoulder. 

"What a mess, uh?" He shrugged. 

"Isn't it always?" She smiled. She and Chris had had their fair share of trouble and adventures over the years. 

The man sighed heavily, could Wesker really be alive? The question was tearing him apart. If he was, then everything he had fought, everything he had done. All for nothing? Was the whole world once again in eminent danger? Wesker was ruthless, he hit fast and hard. If he was still around, then surely he was already planning his next move and they needed to put an end to it as soon as possible.

The girls exchanged a worried look. 

"You're thinking about Wesker?" 

"Yeah..."

"We need to confirm these suspicions as fast as possible. We can't risk giving him the luxury of time. Wesker never makes the same mistakes twice." Jill frowned, she thought back at her time at the man's side. He was methodical, cunning and unforgiving. He couldn't be allowed to roam free. 

"Agreed." Claire spoke. 

Chris stayed silent for a moment. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was a strange feeling, something in the back of his mind. Deep in the deepest regions of his heart he felt... relieved, hopeful? This was nonsensical. Why would he be pleased with Wesker's return? It was true, a long time ago Chris looked up to the man. But after everything he had done...

"Chris?" Both women said, in worry. 

"Sorry, I'm tired."

"Take the rest of the day off." O'Brian appeared. "You earned it." 

"Sir."

"I don't want to here it. You need a break Chris." 

There was no room for arguing, he was exhausted and welcomed the chance to go back home. He hugged both Jill and his sister before setting out. 

\-- 

Still in the darkness of his room, Wesker was watching the press conference. He chuckled, delighted. Seeing Chris struggling to keep his composure had always been a hobby of his. After a somewhat long commercial break, the conference was back on air. 

"Mister Redfield has stepped down for today, he was called in for important matters..."

Wesker stroked the soft fur, a purr escaped it. The little feline stretched before yawning. 

"We will address your concerns concerning the identity of the man behind the Kijuju's attack..."

"Oh?" The tall blond smirked. "My, my isn't this starting to get interesting."

"... We have reviewed our position and decided to put a warrant on this man. In prevision of his possible return..." 

The small cat sat up on Wesker's lap.

"His name is Albert Wesker..." A rather old photo of him popped up. "... believed to be dead. However, we ask everyone to exercise caution. This man is extremely dangerous. If you see him, maintain reasonable distance, stay out of sight and contact the appropriate authorities. Now, we would like to warn our fellow jurisdictions. Please, let the BSAA handle this man's arrest..."

Wesker grunted. "Truly, they didn't have a better picture?" The photo was of him and fellow researchers back when he worked with Umbrella. "I do suppose they couldn't use my official STARS portrait. What would people think... such hypocrites." 

Now he would have to take some kind of preventive measures. As negligible as it may seem, his appearance was his worse enemy at the time. Indeed, his signature look was unmistakable. He got up and, throwing around his shoulder his black coat, made way for the door. The small kitten meowed. 

"Guard this place, won't you dear?" And he left.

\--

Chris was back at his apartment. He crashed on his sofa without even taking off his shoes. Looking at the ceiling he thought about his former captain. Back when he seemed to be an honorable man. His philosophy always appealed to Chris and his firm and stoic attitude would help young Redfield overcome his problem with authority. Truth is... he was enthralled. Wesker was everything Chris hoped to be at the time. He was the very image of a man dedicated to his cause. And then everything changed... or did it? Albert was still passionate as ever, he had devoted body and mind to his ideal... he was willing to do anything to achieve his goal. But what "goal" was that exactly? It was easy to misunderstand the man's attentions for world domination, but dig deep enough and you'd understand that the real end result was peace. This was something Chris could wholeheartedly support but Wesker's means were too... extreme. There had to be a better way.

The phone rang, extirpating Chris from his thoughts. He answered rapidly. 

"Yes?"

It was Jill on the other line, she explained the situation. Apparently the cops had been called-in not long ago to investigate a gun shot, but when they arrived a the scene they were met with a gruesome sight. Three young men had been killed, one pointblank the other two ripped to shreds. It would have took immense physical strength to achieve that. Immediately the BSAA was called in for suspicions of a bio-weapon involvement. But Jill thought differently. She recognized the wounds, she had saw the same ones back at Spencer's manor. Add the gun wound and it all pointed to the same person... Wesker. 

"I'll be right there. Meet me at the scene." 

"Copy."

He hanged. He was on his feet a second later and the next, riding his car. 

\--

Wesker came back at the motel with a series of small items. He dreaded it, but he took the decision to dye his precious mane. He already stood out thanks to Uroboros playing havoc with his skeleton, he didn't need people staring at him anymore than they already did. With his claw-like fingers he ruffled his hair and proceeded to dye it all black, his eyebrows too. He took out grey lenses and opened his eyes wide. An hour later the process was completed and he looked somewhat different. He knew however that changing his hairstyle was another sensible thing to do. He grunted in displeasure. He had been arranging his hair in the same fashion for at least 30 years, give or take. And now he had to change everything up. He cut the sides short but left the top mostly untouched. As he couldn't bring himself to arrange them any other way than backward he left it as. He took a look in the mirror, he didn't look bad. He never looked bad, just different. And that was the desired outcome so... 

He grunted once more. "I do Hope Chris will like my new look. He had better." a note of anger in his usual cold tone.

\--

Chris and Jill had reviewed the crime scene and both agreed this was somehow Wesker's doing. They had it wrapped up and called it a day, for real this time. The BSAA captain dropped his partner off at her house. "Careful out there." He smiled, worried. 

"You too." She returned his smile and went home. 

For the second time today Chris crashed home. He didn't bother to open the lights at first and stumbled in the dark. In the kitchen he opened the fridge and took out a beer. He knew he wasn't suppose to drink alcohol, he had developed a taste for it after his first run in with Carla. But he needed a distraction. He sat in the dark of his living room, his mind occupied by nothing but Wesker. He had tried to forget, but there was a time when he and Wesker had been close. There was always a weird tension between them, one he could never manage to put into words. He finished his beer and headed for the bathroom. He undressed and stepped inside the shower. The warm water sliding down his body helped him relax his muscles but his mind still wandered. At some point he recalled his ex-captain. It had been a while since he laid eyes upon the man, the way he looked was always very clean, chic yet a bit indecent. He remembered his attire back in Africa. Black, almost skin-tight leather... "Of all the things..." Chris shook his head violently when he found himself reacting to the image. He turned the water cold in hopes it would calm him down. He finished his shower quickly and headed directly to bed. He tried his best to ignore the growing discomfort in his boxers. This was revolting, how could he... unnerved he tossed and turned but strictly refused to indulge in his own wants. It was wrong. He threw his cover across the room, he was sweating slightly. That's when he noticed his window was wide open. 

"Did I leave it like this..?" He frowned a little but welcomed the whiff of fresh air. 

He was completely vulnerable, clothed only by his underwear. His muscles were bare, accentuated by the shadows of a dim light coming in from the window. He let himself fall in bed. Continuing to ignore his current state. He laid face towards the window, it was weird but he didn't remember opening it earlier. He felt a warm wind tickle his nape. 

"Restless aren't we?" 

The whispering voice was all too familiar.


	3. The Crooked Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Set out from any point. They are all alike. They all lead to a point of departure.”   
> ― Antonio Porchia

Chris blenched, turning around as fast as he could, before he could utter a word he was pinned down from his neck. A firm hand kept a constant pressure on his throat, still allowing him to breath. The shadowy figure of a man stood on top of him, the hand holding him down was as cold as ice and the skin felt as hard as diamonds. He grabbed a hold of its wrist, feeling under his palm a sharp substance, almost mineral, the claw like fingers tighten their hold in response. Drawing a small amount of blood. Chris clenched his teeth, in the darkness of the room he could discern a silhouette but the man's visage was just out the moonlight's reach. 

"Now, now, dear. Don't make this harder than it needs to be." 

The man's voice was deep, a tad twangy, the arrogance in his voice was unmistakable. Chris didn't need to see his face. 

"Wesker..." Speaking was painful, his throat was dry and the tight hold was becoming suffocating. 

"I only came to talk. So why don't you be a good boy and behave?" 

He loosened his grip ever so slightly. 

"Have we reached an agreement?" His tone was ominous, menacing even, making it clear he wouldn't suffer any more of his futile resistance.

Chris nodded, he was in no position to disagree. The hand holding on to him let go completely, the man on top of him didn't move however. He sat in Chris's lap suggestively. 

"Happy to see me?" Wesker huffed mockingly.

Redfield had forgotten all about his previous struggle but his body was still feeling it. He blushed fiercely, a mix of anger and confusion. 

"That's a nice expression." Wesker moved his hips faintly, enticingly.

The friction was unbearable, unable to think straight and painfully aware of his current position, Chris let out a sharp grunt. This was revolting, shocking, unacceptable... but he found himself wanting more. 

"I have to say Redfield, I only wanted to chat a bit but this... Oh this is much more interesting." He grinned and left out an evil chuckle.

"What do you want? You came to talk, so talk. I don't have time to play with you." Chris's head was dizzy and thinking about a thousands things all at once, he needed more time. 

"Is that so..?" The tall man leaned in towards Chris. "A shame." The dim moonlight revealed his traits. 

For the first time since their last encounter the two man faced each other. Wesker's new appearance surprised Chris at first. His cadaverous jaw and the black ligaments holding it together, his dyed hair, arranged in a new fashion. But it was his eyes Chris found himself lost in. They were a pale grey... just like they used to be. For a minute he was enthralled, unable to take his gaze away, lost in Albert's intense gaze. He had no idea what kind of expression he might have been making, but it triggered something inside his former captain. His gaze drifted away. 

"Am I repulsing? You did this to me." His voice was but a whisper.

Right then nothing made sense, he should have been angry, he should have tried to fight back or at least he should have been hurling insults. But he didn't and his forehead met with Wesker's, the tips of their noses brushed against each other and they stopped. Lips kept apart by mere centimeters. Chris's warm breath met with Albert's frigid exhale. Their minds were blank, there was a million reasons why they should have pulled away, but love never makes sense and so they kissed. 

Wesker's lips were glacial, his whole body was deprived of heat. Even the inside of his mouth, his tongue. Chris's hands scooped his cheeks, their tongues met inside Albert's mouth, they danced slowly. In a tight embrace, the younger man pulled in his former captain, overwhelmed by an inexplicable sadness. It was like scratching an itch he didn't know he had. Had he been wanting this..? From the very beginning? 

Albert felt a sharp pain shiver through his entire body, he couldn't explain the cause. He despised everything he could not understand, and Chris had always been the biggest mystery of his life. Even now... why was he here?

Redfield willingly gave up any grasp on reality he had left. He had this feeling of urgency, he felt it in his guts. If he didn't do it now, he never would. He kissed Albert again and slowly pushed him down, soon he was under him. He expected some kind of resistance but Wesker didn't move, he stared blankly in Chris's eyes. 

"You know this is a mistake." It was almost inaudible. 

"I know." 

They resumed their kiss, it was becoming more and more hungry. Chris was already almost naked but Wesker was still fully clothed, he even had his shoes on. Hesitantly but impatient, Chris started to undress him, layers after layers until he was in nothing but his trousers. His chest was scarred all over, some wounds, clearly deeper than others. He brushed his finger across the more visible ones. Both his arms, from the elbow down, were covered in that rocky black substance. It looked painful, just like his jaw. In attempt to bring back his attention somewhere else, Albert brushed his sharp fingers on Chris's cheek. 

"I don't need you thinking about unnecessary things." 

He kissed him once again, they found themselves seeking more and more friction. They unclothed themselves completely and got entirely rid of their conscience. They didn't need it, nor want it. Quickly it became feral, one body seeking another and the pleasure therein. The whole world ceased to exist, no war, no politics, no machinations. Nothing but the unbreakable bond of two shattered souls, seeking desperately a bit of comfort. The clawed, they bit and they moaned and groaned. Never in a thousand years would they ever be satisfied. It wasn't gentle, there was blood and pain, but it couldn't have been more romantic, more earnest. It lasted most of the night, they kept clinging on to each other, afraid to be reclaimed by reality. 

\--

Morning came, the sun shone brightly, illuminating the room. Chris woke up, memories of last night flooded his mind, he turned around violently. The sheets were cold and the window was closed. Could this have been a dream..? No. There were stains of blood, and his whole body hurt. He sat up, the cover he had previously discarded was back on to the bed, covering his lower half. Did Wesker put it back? He got out of bed and directly into the bathroom. Looking at the mirror he saw claw marks covering certain areas of his body, mostly his shoulders and his back. There were bite marks on his neck. Remembering it brought a blush to his cheeks. It felt unreal, now that he had gotten a hold of his senses this seemed... sinful. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He tried shaking away the thoughts, he needed to cool down. He took a shower and went downstairs. He was fashionably late for work, Jill and Claire were probably getting worried by now. He checked his phone, as predicted, several missed calls. Jill, Claire, O'Brian, they all tried to get a hold of him. Indeed, arriving late the day after learning about Wesker's return? It send a bad omen. He snatched his keys and left immediately.

\--

Wesker was back in his motel room. He was laying in bed, but he wasn't sleeping. Cooped up next him, was the small kitten, he was petting its little head. Somehow this was therapeutic. Last night was intense, even for him, and he needed to analyze the situation. Now, he could put words onto his feelings, unto his uneasiness. But this didn't solve any problems. The whole endeavor had become an hundred times more complicated. Everything made a little more sense... how he could never bring himself to terminate Redfield. The thrill, the excitation, he nurtured every time he would hear of his implication. His desire to make him understand. This was love then? Wesker never loved anyone... He thought he never would. But when Chris held him... he felt alive. He didn't even notice he had gotten so numb. 

\-- 

At the office everyone was pestering Chris about where he was and if he was okay. Everyone knew he was the most involved in the Wesker case and everyone was worried this was going to consume him. But he looked different this morning, almost as if something... good(?) had happened. 

"Chris, you're alright? I was about to head to your place..." Jill was visibly unsettled. 

"Don't worry, I'm fine, I just had trouble sleeping." He reassured her with a smile. 

They day went on without much of a problem. But Redfield spent the whole day wondering whether or not he should let his colleagues know about his nightly encounter. Obviously he would let out... some details. But it was still an important piece of information. It could be critical in their search for Wesker. At the same time, a young recruit came in running. Hand full of paperwork. 

"Sir!" 

"What is it?" 

"We have a lead on Wesker, sir!" 

The whole crew was on tip of their toes, waiting for their captain orders. He took a quick glance at the documents and ordered his team to move out. Apparently he had been reported by the owner of a small, decrepit motel in a tough neighborhood of the city. Not far from where they had found the teenagers corpses. They were on their way not five minutes later. And at the site within an hour. They parked their vehicles just out of sight and made their way to room 53, as subtly as possible. They got into position and were ready to break down the door on their captain signal. He nodded and the door opened in a loud boom. They spread out and searched the small room, nothing. A small kitten was seated on the bed, looking at them curiously. It jumped down and brushed against Chris's leg. The little bell on his necklace rang. 

"Nothing here sir." 

The computer had been fried and the bed had been made. Wesker knew they were coming, and he took his sweet time arranging his departure.

Jill pointed out that the cat had been seated on a letter. Chris took it: 

"Dear Refield, 

I regret not having more time to allow you. You have given me much to think about and I find myself seeking isolation.   
I cannot say for sure what our next meeting will bring. But I know we will see each other again.   
Be it for better or worse. 

Yours truly. 

-Albert Wesker"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the last chapter :) I have been pondering whether or not I should continue this story line and it will depend on the reception I get from you guys! Let me know if you want more and who knows, Part 2 might be right around the corner <3


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